


limitations

by sevenfoxes



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 22:19:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenfoxes/pseuds/sevenfoxes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is the most disciplined of them all.  He is a man of belief, and as Eames tells her, that makes him the most dangerous, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	limitations

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this amazing piece of art](http://sevensneakyfoxes.tumblr.com/post/52907336890/oh-you-ariadne-arthur-eames-kiss-in-the-rain).

Surprisingly, Ariadne is not the first to break.  
  
The mind is not meant to have access to the infinite, to be given freedom beyond the limited, unconscious boundaries of natural dreaming.   
  
Ariadne has always felt like Arthur and Eames, while respectful and generally in awe of her talent, believe her to be in need of some kind of extra protection.  For a while, it had seemed like some residual cast-off from the fact that she had never quite fit in with the less legal aspects of their line of work.  She doesn't like guns, she doesn't like blood, she doesn't like sewing closed knife wounds that Eames occasionally earns from his backdoor dealings or helping set bones in Arthur's hand because they can't hit up a hospital until they cross whatever fucking border they need get past with fake papers.  But as time goes on, she realizes it's more than that.  Every day they break rules that shouldn't be broken, push their minds past the point of what should be possible.  
  
It takes a while for her to realize that they do not see her as weaker, only wish to protect her from the irreversible damage they see in themselves, as if willpower were enough.  
  
In the end, it is Arthur who breaks first.  In Turin, Ariadne watches as Eames wrestles him to the ground, grappling with the smaller, but deceptively strong Arthur.  They had been spending too many hours under with the new formula that their new Italian chemist had been cooking up with the new, supposedly more stable version of Somnacin.  The dreams had been clearer, changes easier to push into place, the subconscious more docile - but waking up had become more challenging, the drug hangover making reality seem more like the dream.   
  
(Arthur is the most disciplined of them all.  He is a man of belief, and as Eames tells her, that makes him the most dangerous, too.)  
  
 _Fuck! You're awake, Arthur_ , Eames all but screams into Arthur's face, both their eyes wild with fear, with pure, unadulterated fight.  Whatever has come back from the dream is not Arthur, just a wild animal, half-awake, running on pure instinct.  _Ariadne!  Get the bloody gun!_  
  
Ariadne scrambles for the gun that has fallen from Arthur's hand, just beyond the couch, halfway to the small kitchen of the apartment they have rented.  
  
As she touches the gun, for a split second, Ariadne flashes back to one of their first meetings after Fischer, when Arthur showed up at her door with a silver briefcase in one hand and an umbrella in the other, a smirking Eames trailing behind him.  Eames had taught her to shoot in the dream they had shared later that afternoon after tea, Arthur watching half-amused before shifting the dream so the bullseyes down near the water all featured Eames's grinning face.  
  
(It had been raining after.  She remembers that.  One of those weird, short Paris storms that always left her hair damp and frizzy. Arthur had left the PASIV with her, promising to return.  He had kissed her then, Ariande's eyes gone wide with shock while Eames had slipped a possessive arm around Arthur's waist to slap Ariadne's ass lightly before returning back to hang loose over Arthur's hip.)  
  
She breaks from the dream as she spots Arthur crack his elbow into Eames's ribs, sending him flying into the small coffee table that the PASIV is resting on, his head hitting off the wood hard enough that it makes Ariadne wince.  Her blood turns cold as he turns to her, pushing up off the ground toward her.  
  
They've never had limits.  
  
The mind does.


End file.
